


No So Normal Circumstances

by trainwhistlesatnight



Category: Khonjin House (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainwhistlesatnight/pseuds/trainwhistlesatnight
Summary: Gilmore is the boss, and he's had his fair share of fights.





	No So Normal Circumstances

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a gun against his head, speaking his mind wasn’t really an option here.  
  
“Where is he?” Someone asked, he couldn’t tell who considering he had a blindfold covering his eyes.  
  
“I don’t know.” He lied. Truth is, he did know. Of course he knew where his own damn son was, he was at home, asleep in his bed because last time he checked before all hell broke loose and he ended up here, it was just past 3 in the morning.  
  
They gripped on his shoulder, there was warm air being breathed in his ear, “Yes you do, old man. Tell me where the hell that kid is.”  
  
Gilmore stiffened slightly, the breath in his ear was gross as all hell and he had to hold himself from making a snappy remark that would certainly get him injured in some way. He breathed slowly for a moment.  
  
“I told you, I don’t know where he is.” He had to think about his words carefully, he couldn’t give anything away, this was too important.  
  
“You’re lying to me, old man. You know where he is, and you know what he is. You know what he holds.” Gilmore huffed.  
  
“Clearly, I don’t know what he holds. Why don’t you inform me of that?” The mystery individual growls, pushing away from Gilmore, almost tipping the chair he was tied to over.  
  
“HER!” They shouted. “He holds HER. He holds her power! He is HER! He is Shelby, reincarnated, you senile old man!” They shouted.  
  
“No, he’s not.” Gilmore stated calmly. At least this wasn’t a lie. Gilmore fidgeted his hands slightly behind his back, shifting whole body some. This seating arrangement wasn’t exactly comfortable.  
  
“YES, HE IS!”  
  
“No, he’s not.” Gilmore stated again, hands still fidgeting some. He heard steps come towards him, and stopped his fidgeting. They grasped his neck, starting to choke off his air supply.  
  
“Listen, buddy,” They hissed in his face. Gilmore held his breath, stiffened up tight. Now was not the time to make a wrong move. He didn’t listen to what they said as they growled in his face their rant. He instead tried to think through a plan.  
  
His thoughts were starting to get clouded, they were cutting off his air and he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t let something happen, he had to get home, he had to  _do something,_ **do something** _, **do something for God’s sake!**_  
  
_“Fine”_ , he thought,  _“no plan, just do.”_  
  
He moved one of his feet just slightly, and kicked forward as hard as he could manage. The stranger yelped in pain and Gilmore’s chair knocked him onto his back. He let out a pained grunt when he hit the ground, squeezing his eyes shut when he did.  
  
He managed to roll onto his side, moving his hands and finally pulling what little bit of the rope typing his hands together, and freeing himself. He swung an arm over and pushed himself off the floor, grunting again as he did so. He pulled his cloth up and off his head and tried to steadily himself, swaying around for a second when he registered the sound of the stranger’s footsteps thumping toward him and turned just in time to get slammed into the hard concrete ground.  
  
“FUCK!” He hollered as his attacker yelled at him and his back screamed in pain, pinning his chest down. Gilmore tried to move, wiggle, roll, something to get them off.  
  
They slammed a hand down beside him, leaning down closer to spit in his face. Gilmore decided then was the perfect time, moving one of his hands into a fist and bringing is and punching his attacker square in the throat.  
  
They made a choked, strangled noise, raising both their arms to cover their neck as they tried to get their breath back, and Gilmore used that opportunity to push their chest, pushing them off of him and them onto their back.  
  
He scrambled up, looking for anything that could count as a weapon. He grabbed the closest thing to him, a canteen of oil and thanking whatever God there might be that they didn’t take his gloves off of him when they caught him. He swung it onto his attacker, and it didn’t do much, but it was at least a distraction till he could find something better.  
  
After doing that, he heard them yell in surprise and anger as he scrambled to find something better. He heard slipping and scraping behind him, and screeched in pain and surprise when a blade caught the back of his leg. They grabbed his ankle, tripping him and slamming him down onto the ground with him. His hands were screaming in pain, and his brain yelled at him to get up.  
They cut down the back of Gilmore’s leg as they pulled him closer to him, he cried out in pain and tried to grab anything he could use to defend himself and finally,  _finally_ , his hand caught the handle of a hammer.  
  
He looked behind himself for only a split second before flinging the hammer behind him and pulling himself up as fast he could when they screamed in pain and let go of his leg.  
  
He picked it back up, wincing from the pain in his leg. They tried to reach out to him again, face now bloody from where the hammer hit them square in the nose, but before they could do so, Gilmore raised the hammer up and slammed it down on them.  
  
With the way they were positioned, he hit the back of their head, just above their neck.  
  
And he heard a sickening crack.  
  
They dropped to the floor, body still, eyes wide and not breathing.  
  
Gilmore’s job here was almost done.  
  
He breathed, finally, a full breath of air since he’d gotten here. Gilmore looked around for a moment, found the canteen of oil from earlier and poured it out some, working his way up the stairs from the basement they were in, and to the front door.  
  
He found a lighter on their kitchen and stepped outside, and lit the oil aflame.  
Gilmore watched for a moment as the house began to catch on fire. It wasn’t big, more than likely just a hideout to do dirty work. The point was, it was in the middle of fucking no where, and it was snowing, and looked like it would try to do some kind of raining soon. The house wouldn’t do any more damage than it was supposed to.  
  
He turned and finally began walking away, pulling his now scuffed and tattered jacket close to him to try and keep warm best he could.  
  
When he finally arrived home, it was nearly six in the morning, things would start up again soon, and he’d have to get business done.  
  
He walked into the bathroom, shedding some of his clothes to work on cleaning his leg wound. As he did so, he looked around, and frowned at himself, scrapped, bloody and bruised.  
  
_“Damn,”_  he thought,  _“I’ll need to order a new hat.”_    
  
And continued on.

**Author's Note:**

> "Train, write something that's not Khonjin House!"  
> .. No.


End file.
